


Of Human Bondage

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: BDSM but neither of them are taking themselves too seriously, Homophobia (mostly internalised), Kink Negotiation, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Richie consistently ruining the mood and Eddie fucking him anyway because he's a true hero, Solving problems with sex instead of going to a therapist like you probably should
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21594382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I bought handcuffs yesterday,” Eddie says, and takes another bite of his toast.“Oh,” says Richie, because he is wildly unprepared for this conversation starting, segue-less, at 9am on a Saturday.“They’re the safe ones,” Eddie says, as if that was the source of Richie’s confusion. “That you can get out of yourself. So I won’t die of starvation if you eat too much white bread and have a heart attack and collapse on top of me.”“Well,” Richie says. “I certainly feel reassured.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53
Collections: Anonymous





	Of Human Bondage

**Author's Note:**

> More content warnings that I didn't have a succinct way of tagging:
> 
> There's a theme of discomfort/anxiety surrounding sex.  
> There are also references to threatening/predatory behaviour (though none of the characters actually act this way).

It starts over breakfast, Eddie eating a slice of aggressively wholegrain toast while Richie munches on white bread with marmalade (his and Eddie’s compromise between Froot Loops and “food with nutritional qualities”).

“I bought handcuffs yesterday,” Eddie says, and takes another bite of his toast.

“Oh,” says Richie, because he is wildly unprepared for this conversation starting, segue-less, at 9am on a Saturday.

“They’re the safe ones,” Eddie says, as if _that_ was the source of Richie’s confusion. “That you can get out of yourself. So I won’t die of starvation if you eat too much white bread and have a heart attack and collapse on top of me.”

“Well,” Richie says. “ _I_ certainly feel reassured.”

Eddie waits for a second then says. “So. They’re there. But we don’t have to use them.”

“Oh. They’re _decorative_ handcuffs.”

Eddie narrows his eyes.

“I’m definitely seeing a use for them. Cuff you, eat crumbly pastries in bed. Cuff you, leave my socks on the floor. Cuff you, drink milk from the bottle.”

“Then I hope you treasure your 30 seconds of unhygienic liberty before I get out of them and murder you.”

“Oh,” says Richie, “I plan to.”

It happens sans crumbly pastries. 

Richie's reaching over Eddie, shirtless and half-hard beneath him, for the lube in the bedside table when he sees the cuffs instead.

“Oh,” he says, holding them up and glancing at Eddie, thinking _good a time as any_ , “um, do you want to...?”

Eddie nods, clasping his hands around one of the bedposts.

But there’s something in his eyes. Nervous excitement, probably but it’s close enough to fear that Richie needs to pause, breathe in.

He opens up each of the metal links, clasping them around Eddie's wrists. Eddie shivers when the cool metal meets the think skin of his wrist, and suddenly Richie’s chest feels far too tight.

“Eds,” he breathes. “I just-I need a minute,” and he scrambles off the bed, out of the room, sinking down to sit against the wall, knees to his chest.

He remembers their geography teacher, Mr King, of all things. Remembers there was a concerned parents meeting about him. His mother recounted it at dinner, imitating the Stepford contingent. _How can we trust him around boys? Given his lifestyle. I’m sorry, but men like that are naturally predatory. Predatory._ He’d looked it up. Repeated it in his head, until thinking about Eddie made him sick. And it worked. For a day. And then Eddie was sitting in his bed, reading a comic, twitching his sunburned nose and elbowing Richie. And Richie elbowed him back, and soon they were tussling, Eddie’s arms were pinned to the bed, his eyes wide _too wide_ and Richie let go, slid off the bed, made an excuse about homework and scuttled home. Eddie staring after him all the while, while _I didn’t mean to scare him_ and _naturally predatory_ played in his head in stereo, over and over and over and over and over and-

“Hey,” comes a voice, soft and steady.

Richie smears a hand under his eyes as Eddie slots himself next to him.

“So. I’m glad we bought the safe ones.”

“Fuck,” says Richie, huffing a laugh. “Sorry."

“It’s ok. For a minute I thought you were just making me wait.”

“What tipped you off? The fact that I have never in my life shown patience?”

“Mm.” Eddie lays a hand on his knee, and Richie feels his thumb brush back and forth. “Something like that,” he says, which probably means, _N_ _o, it was the distant sound of crying, dipshit_.

Richie closes his eyes, rests his head against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie doesn’t shove him off.

“You want to go back to bed? Just to sleep?”

Richie murmurs a yes.

Eddie takes his hand, leads him back to their room.

He sprawls across the bed. Eddie leans in close, presses a kiss to his temple and lays a hand across his heart like he owns it.

He wakes up the next morning, to Eddie reading by his side, and a croissant on the bedside table.

He turns to say a quick “I love you,” before he turns back to grab the plate.

“I love you t-I put it on a plate for a reason, fuckwit, there’s no point if you just fucking lift the croissant off and leave a trail of crumbs on the bedspread.”

Richie brings the plate up to his chin and plants his face on it to take bites.

“Happy?” he asks, muffled through pastry.

“I married Bigfoot. I'm ecstatic.”

Richie finishes the croissant with Eddie watching, which is slightly pleasant, and quite unnerving.

“So,” Eddie says, stretching out his leg to brush his foot against Richie’s ankle. “Do you want to talk about last night?”

“No,” says Richie, “not really.”

“Let me rephrase. I want to talk about last night.”

Richie could really use another croissant to stuff his face into.

“Rich. We don’t have to go there, again. We can incinerate the cuffs or whatever, but-”

“I don’t think they burn,” Richie says. “Not an arcade token.”

“-but I just-I mean, was it anything else? I don’t want to accidentally do something and freak you out again.”

“You didn’t do anything.” He pauses. “You know in Home Alone-”

“Christ. This is how we’re having this conversation?”

“-how at first you’re like, hey, this is just a guy trying to defend his home. Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern are way too determined, it’s almost like they want to be trapped. Or electrocuted. But then you’re like, hey, Kevin’s enjoying this _way_ too much, like maybe there’s actually something wrong with him, deep in his brain, and he doesn’t even try to warn them about it.”

“…Ok.” Eddie says. “Am I the sociopathic teenage boy, or the adult criminals, in this scenario?”

“Fuck. Neither. Listen. It’s not a perfect allegory-”

“Richie,” Eddie pleads. “Can we have a normal conversation that’s not, like, a stand-up bit?” He turns on his side to face Richie, eyes wide, eyebrows upturned, big puppy-dog vibes, and says “I bought you a croissant.”

“…Fine.” Richie lays back, staring at the ceiling. But he doesn’t know where to start. So he asks, “Were you ever scared of me, when we were kids?”

“What the fuck?” Eddie asks, and Richie can see his eyebrows darting up from his peripheral vision. “ _No_. Even if you had told me-even if I hadn't felt the same. Just. No.”

“Oh,” says Richie, and swallows. “That’s-that’s good.”

He shifts a little to face Eddie, who has a look of dawning realisation on his face.

“If it helps,” he says, “you’re literally the least threatening person I’ve ever met.”

Richie laughs. “That-that actually does help.”

“You went to the gym two days this year. You tried to pick me up once and almost died. You complimented the cargo shorts of the guy who heckled your Apollo show. The last time we had a real argument you called me ‘Spaghetti’ in the middle of it, and it’s been impossible to take you seriously ever since. Is that helpful?”

Richie smacks his hands on his knees. “I’m cured. Take me to your leather dungeon.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Jesus. Do you-do you actually want to try again? Because there are things we can try. Else we can just….give the cuffs to Goodwill?...Does Goodwill take sex toys?”

“Let’s try again. Can’t have you being kinkier than me.”

“Oh my God. That is a _terrible_ reason-”

Most of Richie's motivations can be boiled down to getting a reaction out of Eddie. And he's sure, if they can work this out, it will get a hell of a reaction.

Richie turns his head to kiss Eddie. “I want to. Let’s try again.”

“So,” Eddie unclasps and reclasps his hands around the bedpost. “I can move if I want. I’ll say red if I want you to stop."

Richie nods. “Maybe you can give me feedback as well.”

Eddie makes a face. "You just want me to compliment your dick, don't you? I'm not a porn star, Richie. I can't lie."

"Ouch," says Richie, clutching at his heart. "Just tell me if things are working. Or not. And direct me. If you want.”

“Feedback. Got it.”

Feedback, as it turns out, is not hugely necessary.

Eddie lets out this little sigh as soon as Richie mouth meets his stomach. And Eddie's never entirely silent, but getting noisy this early is definitely _new_.

Richie dips a tongue into the divot between his abdominal muscles experimentally, and his back arches. _Interesting_.

He absent-mindedly clutches at Eddie's thighs as he moves lower, but Eddie gasps and says, "More of that."

Richie doesn't know how to grab more thigh, so instead he nips at the skin there. His eyes are elsewhere.

"This is a good angle for you," he says, looking up at Eddie. "It's like visiting the Shard."

Eddie glares like he's considering unclasping his hands in order to whack Richie. Instead, he lifts a foot and hits it against the side of his head.

Richie huffs a laugh, which, given his position, has the added benefit of making this muffled noise come out of Eddie's throat.

That, of course, makes Eddie glare even more.

Richie, appeasingly, presses a kiss to his cock. And, less appeasingly, dips his tongue into the slit.

Eddie moans softly, like he doesn't even realise he's doing it. Richie looks up to see his eyes closed, thumb running up and down the bedpost.

He opens his eyes when Richie stops to stare at him.

"Blow me," he says, somewhere between an insult and a suggestion.

"Really? That's how you're gonna ask?" 

Eddie sighs. He lays his head back, closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, his expression is mollified. 

"Please?" he asks.

Richie dutifully takes him into his mouth. Eddie's eyes bug out, and Richie realises that maybe he wasn't supposed to give in quite so easily, but what was he supposed to do with Eddie's moon eyes looking down at him?

Eddie doesn't seem to mind too much, judging from the way his hips keep bucking up into Richie's ready lips.

"Richie," he says, and Richie would kill to have Eddie say his name like that all the time.

He twists a hand around the base, tracing sloppy patterns with his tongue.

Eddie's hands are grappling at the bedposts, like half of him wants to let go, tug at Richie's hair instead, and that makes Richie moan against him.

" _Richie_ ," he says again, and Richie can tell it's a warning, even before he adds. "I'm almost-"

Richie swallows him down, keeps him warm through the aftershocks before his mouth slides off.

Eddie unclasps his hands from the bedpost. He winces as he stretches them and brings them back to his sides.

"Too old for this shit?" Richie asks, smirking.

He rolls his eyes, sitting up to tug Richie towards him, then push him down onto the bed.

He runs a thumb over Richie's already-slick cock.

Richie shudders, but manages, "You don't have to. Wouldn't want you to sprain something."

"Fuck off," says Eddie, but then he pauses and looks up at Richie. "I mean, unless you don't want to." He frowns. "Are you good? You're not freaking out, right?"

"My bean is unfreaked," Richie says, delighting in the face Eddie makes. Strands of hair are sticking to his forehead. He looks perfect.

"You should run abstinence programs," Eddie says, clasping a hand tightly around Richie's dick, "you're so good at ruining the mood."

" _Oh-h_ ," Richie says, no longer able to process much information beyond _friction friction friction._

Eddie must forget about Richie's sloppy mouth, because he kisses him before making a face at the taste. He keeps his mouth further down, after that, sucking marks across his neck and shoulders.

By the time he gets around to twisting his tongue around a nipple, Richie's already coming across his stomach.

Eddie presses a kiss to his shoulder before going to grab a wet flannel. He cleans them off and nuzzles into Richie's side.

When Richie falls asleep, he dreams of Eddie, holding him down.

"So," Richie says over breakfast the next morning, "did I pass the dominatrix practical?"

Eddie looks at him appraisingly. "It was definitely an enjoyable two minutes."

"There's no shame in being a little premature," Richie says sympathetically.

Eddie glares at him.

" _Fine_ , you're better at being withholding than I am. To be fair, you practice a lot more."

“…We’re not having this conversation.”

“See?” Richie says gleefully.

Eddie rolls his eyes, but softens a little. "Thanks. For trying that for me."

"Anytime," Richie says. "Although, um. I had a wild thought. Maybe, since you're so much better at being withholding. You could cuff me. Instead."

He takes six bites of his toast in quick succession, and it takes him a minute to realise Eddie’s look of disgust is directed towards _that_ , and not his idea.

He knows it doesn’t make sense for him to feel nervous, not when Eddie wanted the same thing, but his brain had always had different rules for him and the rest of the world. Ever since he was 13, hating himself for being like Mr King. But not hating Mr King. He had to divert all of it inward if he even had a chance of keeping himself in check. There wasn’t any left for anyone else.

“Ok,” Eddie says, and Richie wasn’t expecting him to say no, exactly, but he also wasn’t expecting it to be that easy.

“Ok,” says Richie, dumbly.

“So,” Eddie continues. “Cuffs. Do you want anything else?”

“Sex, preferably.”

“No, jackass, I mean-you want me to be withholding, right? So, what, am I being mean? Detached? Punishing you?" 

“Um,” says Richie. “Yes.”

“…You were supposed to choose one.”

“Surprise me.”

“Ok,” says Eddie, and goes back to his Sudoku.

He glances up at Richie, who is still standing there, processing, 5 seconds later. “Wha-did you want me to do it _now_?”

“No,” says Richie, going pink. “Fuck off. This is my kitchen too.” He sits down, like that was his plan all along. And wonders what to do with his hands.

“Pass me an orange,” he says.

“Seriously?” Eddie says, passing one over. “You’re going to pretend that’s what you stayed here to do? You’ve never voluntarily eaten an orange in your life.”

Richie digs a nail into the skin and ends up pistoning citrus straight into his eye.

“ _Ow_. How the fuck do people eat this without injuring themselves?”

“Christ,” Eddie says. “I hope we can fuck the stupid out of you."

Richie beams, rolling the orange back over to him. “You can try.”

Eddie finishes his Sudoku, and goes for a walk.

And ok, Richie wasn't really expecting Eddie to bend him over the kitchen counter right then and there, but maybe he was kind of _hoping_ for it. 

But he doesn't act on his promises for a couple of days, which is _fine_ , except that Richie's dick, which is not that bright at the best of times, assumes that he's about to be handcuffed whenever Eddie's being loud, or mean, or annoyed. And the realisation always hits, 2 minutes later, that Loud and Mean and Annoyed is Eddie's natural state of being, and it's not leading anywhere except to Richie being yelled at.

On the 3rd day, Eddie notices. 

Richie comes home from the supermarket, laden with gifts of ready meals.

Eddie gets up from the couch to help him with his bags, staring reproachfully at Richie's jacket in the process.

"Red camo," Eddie says, putting meals in the freezer while Richie hovers about helpfully. "Real smart, Rich. As long as you're tailing a fire truck, you'll be invisible. Who cares if it looks like you're wearing a dumpster fire?"

Eddie closes the freezer door, then turns to Richie, who is standing a few inches away from the wall. Very ready to be slammed into it.

Eddie glances at his jeans, then looks back up, confounded. "Really?"

Richie shrugs. He could try to explain the mental limbo his dick's been in for the past few days, but it's not like this is the first time Eddie's insults have had him readier than a ready meal.

"I guess it's fitting," Eddie says, turning contemplative. "You look like you're about to visit a strip club."

"Strip club's right here, Eds. And I bet I can get the four-foot twink to come home with me."

"You think?" asks Eddie, smiling _too sweetly_. He pulls Richie into a wet kiss, before, _thwack_ , his hand smacks against Richie's ass.

It's light, testing the waters, but it still makes Richie gape, cock thickening in his jeans.

Hot breath tickles against Richie's ear. "Don't call me Eds."

"...You know," Richie says, jeans feeling tighter and tighter. "Normal people would object to the stripper comparison a _little_ more than the nickname."

Eddie pulls his head back but stays close, dipping two fingers into the waistband of Richie's jeans. Pulling, and letting it snap back. "We both know I'm not the one aching to get out of my clothes."

"Touché," Richie says, angling for another smack, "Eds."

Eddie rolls his eyes like he knows Richie's game, but he still brings his hand down. Lets it sting, this time.

If he listens closely, Richie's pretty sure he can hear the stitching of his jeans screaming.

"Take everything off," Eddie says. "Then follow me." He heads to the bedroom, leaving Richie alone in the kitchen.

Richie can follow instruction when it suits him. He puts his clothes over a chair instead of leaving them on the floor, in case this is some kind of test.

He's leaking already, so he squeezes a hand around the base of his cock, tries to preserve a smidgen of his dignity. Then he follows Eddie.

Eddie's still fully dressed when he comes in. He's kneeling on the bed.

"Lie down," he says.

Richie, optimistically, goes to lie face-down.

"Nice try," says Eddie. "You're not getting off on the duvet. On your back."

Richie does so, squirming when Eddie looks him up and down.

"Did you touch yourself?"

_What the fuck? Is his boyfriend psychic? It would explain so much._

"No?" Richie attempts, unconvincingly.

Eddie's hand hits his inner thigh. Richie breathes in sharply, hips stuttering.

"You wanna try again?"

"Maybe?" Richie amends. "A little?"

Eddie's hand comes back down, and Richie flinches, but he just traces his fingers over the red patch on his thigh. 

"Then maybe," Eddie says. "We need to find a way to restrain you."

"Oh," says Richie, realisation dawning. "But what could we possibly use?"

Eddie bites down on a smile, and reaches into the bedside table for the cuffs.

Richie brings his arms up.

"Look at that," Eddie says, linking the cuffs around a hand and a bedpost each. "You already know what you're doing."

Richie tests them out, metal biting into his wrists. He's trying to ask for what he wants, and take what’s freely given, but it feels so good to have a moment where he doesn’t have to worry that he’s going to take things too far, because he can’t. Can only want and want and want.

Once Richie is secure, Eddie slides off the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and trousers, and throwing them into the laundry hamper. He slides off his underwear, doing the same, and Richie can see that, while he might not be where Richie's at yet, Eddie's definitely not a disinterested observer.

Richie takes all of him in.The dip of his lashes over focused eyes. Each manicured finger. The pink of his lips and cock and cheeks and chest. The shift of each tight muscle under skin.

He closes his eyes for a moment, because it's all too much.

"Rich?" Eddie says, back on the bed, running a thumb up his torso. "You good?"

Richie opens his eyes to nod. A lot.

"You gonna let me fuck you?"

Richie nods even more.

Eddie leans over to get the lube from the bedside table.

He's always careful when he's opening Richie up, but this is a new level of slow.

Richie lets out a sigh once he actually gets a finger inside, only to groan when he realises he's sticking with that for a _while._

"More, please, Eds...ie."

Eddie smiles, raising an eyebrow. "Edsie?"

"Listen," Richie says, "an attempt was made."

Eddie smiles and shakes his head, but he must be in a generous mood, because Richie's rewarded with another finger.

Eddie finds just the right angle, and Richie wishes he could twist his fingers into the bedspread, or dig them into Eddie's thigh, or do anything to distract from his cock pulsing every few seconds.

"Eds," he breathes out, when he's not sure how much longer he can stand it. Then suddenly he's far too empty, and Eddie is standing in front of the bed.

Richie angles his head up, about to ask _what the hell_ he's doing, when he realises. He lays his head back down, and groans.

"C'mon, _Eddie_ , I'm fucking trying here."

"Oh?" says Eddie, arms folded. "You want a participation trophy?"

Richie brings his head back up to stare at him. "You sound like an op-ed piece on millennials."

"Way to ruin the mood," Eddie says, but a smile's spreading across his face.

Richie goes to gesture wildly at his dick, until the clang of handcuffs reminds him why he can't. He settles for looking down meaningfully. "Does it look like my mood is ruined?" He looks at Eddie, who is leaking just as much as Richie, _finally_ , and adds, "Doesn't look like yours is, either." 

When he looks back up to Eddie's face, his gaze is still on Richie's length. He glances away, almost guiltily, and clutches the base of his own cock, knuckles going white.

Richie swallows. He may actually have a chance at annoying Eddie into fucking him. "You need some help with that?" he asks, hoarse.

Eddie looks back at him, eyes narrowing. "I think I've got a handle on it," he says, and squeezes again.

Richie whines, and whatever shred of dignity he had left sails away. He watches it go. At least it gets Eddie sliding back between his legs.

"What's my name?"

Richie pouts, but says, "Eddie."

Eddie leans over to kiss him, running a tongue over his teeth, then pulls back.

"If your foot touches my head," Eddie says, dragging Richie's legs up over his shoulders, "I'm going to leave you here forever."

Richie doesn't mention the fact that Eddie can't leave him here forever, because he knows how to get out of these shitty plastic cuffs. Because he wants to get fucked sometime this century, he says, "Understood," instead.

Eddie meets his gaze, pushing into Richie, fitting like he's been poured in.

Richie needs to focus on something other than his dick, so he watches Eddie's eyes flutter shut, and his fingers curl into the duvet

And then, because Eddie is a fucking _angel_ , his hand twists around Richie, already slick with precome, and Richie arches up, up, babbling all the while.

_Eddie, Eddie. Fuck, Eds._

Richie spills over his stomach, turning his head to the pillow when Eddie keeps stroking him through it.

He doesn't realise Eddie's pulled out until he lays down next to Richie, unclasping the cuffs from his hands. Richie stretches his wrists, hearing bones crack, then turns onto his side, stroking a hand over Eddie's cheek.

"What do you want?" he asks, somewhat dazedly. "Mouth? Hands?-"

Eddie smiles softly. "Peace and quiet?"

Richie looks down, at his clearly spent cock. "When did that happen?" A pleasant thought hits him. "Was it when I called you Eds?"

Eddie's blissed-out look is very quickly replaced with a glare. "Peace, and quiet, and a wet flannel."

"I thought I was supposed to be getting the aftercare?"

"I did all the work," Eddie says. "Besides, you're the one who gets all hopped-up on adrenaline after." 

Richie makes a move to get up, and Eddie relents, tugging on his arm. "I'll get the dumb flannel."

Richie lies back and grins.

When Eddie returns, he methodically cleans the both of them up, before throwing the flannel in the hamper.

He kisses Richie's jaw and curls into his side, bringing a hand up to pat his cheek. "You did good."

Richie feels warm. "You'd be a great dominatrix," he says, giggling as Eddie's hand shifts to pat over his mouth instead.

Richie tangles his fingers in Eddie's hair, stroking gently. Eddie leans into the touch. 

And maybe Richie's not good at asking for what he wants.

But if Eddie wants him? Then Eddie can have him.


End file.
